Poetry | My Bluebird for Bukowski

You are unsteady today,

The bluebird in your heart,

Sings louder, rising from its perch,

As if to fly. You’ve been tough,

You locked it up, you poured beer on it,

Smoked it croak and

Sang another song you heard:

A man’s song, or a man’s

Song in lost woman’s mouth,

I will be this! I will get that!

You like to stand in the chorus,

You hear the slam of boots,

Marching, oh brave, smart girl.

You are unsteady today,

Because you have been letting

The bluebird out in your room

For months, singing quietly with it,

Smiling, thinking of infinite skies,

Receiving gentle promises of joy,

Feeling freedom that comes when

You see that beyond the bluebird,

You are not important at all,

So you are free to be as simple

And as good as that little bird.

There is a bluebird in your heart,

That you have been letting out

And it is so fragile you are scared

It will fly away and it will die.

So you cage it up, you cage it up.

But, listen, hear the whispers,

Others know Bukowski's bluebird too,

They see you, they do what you do,

Don’t go back, they say,

Stay where you are, write it all

Until you know the dead.

You see no lines, no marching boots,

Just space as sky and flight,

Just blue love blue on blue light,

That makes you a little unsteady,

'Hold, hold on, hold onto me,' you say.

Set it free. Now...that's someone’s voice and

You are in their arms, Set it free. Now.

Link to artist Eric Sweet